PSL: Eleven and Jack on Arcadia

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Arcadia: not a planet, but a habitable moon circling a gas giant of roiling purple and silver clouds. One of the most beautiful places in all of reality; a well-kept secret, so well-kept that most societies thought it nothing more than a legend

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[fixdpointintime]

In the far corner of the bar, sitting in a booth dimly lit by softly glowing orbs, Jack Harkness toyed with a tumbler of hypervodka on the rocks with a slice of lime. He took a sip and laughed at the joke being whispered in his ear by a beautiful woman with pale seafoam skin and long bottle green hair. It was a rich sound, perhaps even captivating, and it carried in the relative quiet.

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He took a sip, and - nope. The taste was fine now, but it was the texture he couldn't stand. Like cloying syrup on the tongue. The Doctor turned over his shoulder and, discreetly as he could, spat it back into the glass.

He deposited the glass on an empty table as he made his way to the bar, scanning the bottles for something he was sure he'd like. He didn't necessarily want anything alcoholic, but whatever was on hand to wash that texture out of his mouth...

The couple in the corner was still laughing as he made his order. On top of that there was a kind of - buzzing. Not quite a sound, but something the Doctor could feel inside his head, like a hum of static. Not sure who or what to pin the second sound on, he glanced toward the source of the laughter.

The double-take was minute, but it was still there. Jack bloody Harkness. In a bar. On Arcadia. Well, of course that would be happening

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The pair in the corner caught the attention of more than just the Doctor, and by the time Jack's companion raised her slender arm to signal she was ready for another drink, nearly half the eyes in the bar followed the movement. Jack's eyes stayed right where they were.

Later he would wish that he'd been more aware of the surroundings - that he'd seen the Doctor first. It would have made for a better story. Probably. Possibly. It didn't really matter. Anything involving the Doctor made for a good story at some point down the road. Not always happy, and not always safe, but always riveting.

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Jack was older. The Doctor couldn't tell how much older, exactly, but as far as timeline was concerned, he was at least some time after the Doctor had last seen him. Which had also been in a bar. But that memory felt as though it had happened to someone else now, and Jack seemed a lot happier.

He wanted to say hello. Didn't necessarily want to just walk over and do it; didn't know whether Jack would understand who he was and anyway they seemed to be... well, doing the sort of thing that got done a lot between Jack and other people.

It took him a few more seconds, but he finally stumbled upon the solution. He snatched a napkin from the bartop, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for a pen. A few minutes later, when the server brought the new drink to Jack's table, she was also holding the napkin, folded in half. She presented it to Jack, pointing out the Doctor as the one who'd sent it over.

The note, when opened, would prove to be a single question: Did it work out with Alonso?

The Doctor gave a short, fluttering wave.

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Jack looked at the Doctor, read the note again, and laughed. He motioned the waitress closer with two fingers and whispered something in her ear that made her blush and nod. A few moments later she was back at the Doctor's side. "Ambassador Harkness would like you to join him for a drink," she said, a faint flush still on her cheeks.

Jack had been talking to her much longer than the moment required to convey that message. Whatever else he had said to her, though, she was keeping for herself.

When the Doctor looked over at him, Jack just smiled and jerked his head to indicate that he should come join them. He said a few words to his companion, and she tittered and reached out one long, slender hand, upturned in the gesture of welcoming for her people.